


For luck

by kate_the_reader



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Clothes, Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 14:29:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6757846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kate_the_reader/pseuds/kate_the_reader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames also wears cuff links. What does Arthur think?</p>
            </blockquote>





	For luck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mycitruspocket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mycitruspocket/gifts).



> One mycitruspocket noticed Mombasa Eames was wearing cuff links, a ficlet was inevitable.  
> Thank you darling!

Arthur loves cuff links. 

He has loved them since he first saw his grandfather slipping a pair into his French cuffs before taking his pretty grandmother out to dinner. 

He has loved them even more since he bought his first pair — little golden ovals — with his first cut from a job. He took those home and sat them on his nightstand and gazed at them. They represented stylishness. They told him he’d arrived in dreamshare. They caused people he worked with to take him more seriously than his age demanded. 

He still has those cuff links. He doesn't wear them anymore, they were, after all, cheap and the plate wore quite soon, but he’s fond of them. 

Nowadays, he can afford gorgeous solid ones, engraved, witty, gleaming in his sharp cuffs. 

He has a bit of a reputation. People remember the point man with the impressive research, the tightly tailored trousers, the crisp striped shirts — and the cuff links. 

Eames, on the other hand, is remembered for different things. 

He is remembered for his incisive mind, his impressive bulk, his skill with a pen and a gun — and his somewhat alarming shirts. 

Eames dresses with a certain flair, suited to his favored tropical boltholes. But Arthur wouldn't call it stylishness. 

So one day, when he catches a glimpse of Eames’s cuffs as he inserts a PASIV line, he pauses in astonishment. French cuffs (albeit salmon) secured with possibly the ugliest cuff links Arthur has ever seen. 

“Eames,” says Arthur, “what the hell are these?” 

“D’you like them, darling?” says Eames, grinning up at Arthur, crooked teeth on display. 

Arthur swallows. 

“They’re hideous, Eames. They’re … what are they?” 

Eames winks. “They’re my lucky cuff links.” 

“Well, really,” huffs Arthur. 

 

At the end of the job, when Eames is unpacking in his little house overlooking the beach in Mombasa, he finds an unfamiliar small box in his bag. Inside are a set of gold cuff links. Little pairs of dice. 

There’s no note. 

Eames wears them when next he visits the casino. For luck. 

 


End file.
